It was the god of beauty who proved to be the catalyst for the Age of Temples.
Is that surprising to you? I mean… how much trouble could the patron of artists, epicureans and very attractive people really cause?
Well, let me tell you about the moment where history turned on a sixpence.
The god of beauty was walking through a field. The sun hung low, paused in the act of throwing itself achingly slowly upon the distant mountains. As it did so, the spear-top peaks seemed to split it open, spilling rays of gold liberally across the landscape. It was as if everything above and everything below – from rows of wheat to streaks of cloud – had been drawn by some obsessive monk in illuminated gilt.
The god’s name was Sunset. At least, that was their name in that moment. They were, you see, always named after the most beautiful thing they could remember seeing.
Sunset weaved a little as they walked as if tipsy on these burnished, delight-distilled sights. On the smell of autumn dried-grass winds. On the feeling of warm dirt between their toes and long grass tickling their arms.
They smiled a little. They were always smiling a little in those days, but only a little. Smiling because the world was full of wonders. Smiling only a little because they were a wonder themself, and so they could not be truly surprised by it.
Sunset looked around them again. It was often worth looking at beautiful things a second time, for they might turn out to be even more beautiful than you first realised.
It was then that Sunset noticed the workers in the field, labouring still beneath the late-day sun.
Then Sunset noticed the people who weren't working, but who stood in the shade and watched the workers.
Then Sunset looked again to the horizon and saw the castle nestled at the base of the mountains.
Sunset squinted and focused and the world blurred and they saw the people sitting in the castle, eating sweet cakes made from the wheat from these very fields.
Sunset thought about this. They thought about how it all fit together: serf and supervisor and distant lords…
"Well, this isn't beautiful At All. No, no, no, this just won't do.” said Sunset.
Then Sunset stopped smiling, even a little. They saw, in their mind's eye, the way this all must sort itself out.
“It All Has To Go.” said Revolution.
There was no-one who heard them say it. There was no-one who saw the moment they stopped smiling… but I assure you, that was the moment the world shifted on its axis.
The god of beauty, funnily enough, was also the one god they never managed to trap in a temple.
Who, after all, could ever build one beautiful enough to tempt them?
It is said they are the only god who has always walked the world in one form or another.
You could glimpse them, perhaps, on the face of a friend when they saw something perfect and smiled… just a little.
Or you might see them on the face of a cheerful, whistling worker… right at the moment their smile died.
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Philomena paced the floor of the lab. “It’s the only thing that will do the trick.”
“Quantum bacon?”
“Of course, quantum bacon. What else is going to attract the right kind of scientists to work here?”
“And who exactly are the ‘right kind’ of scientists?” Akira asked.
Philomena smiled her patient and most patronizing smile. “The ones who believe that all souls were created during the Big Bang.”
“Wait. So souls are made of atoms?”
“Of course. But thoughts are not.”
Akira didn’t take that bait. “Philomena, be real. Where is this all heading? Why do we need so many scientists, let alone all the lab space you’ve leased across the country, for a dark matter experiment that sounds like woo-woo mysticism.”
“Franchising.”
“Franchising?” Akira waited. And waited some more. “Franchising?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Not to this theoretical physicist.”
Philomena snapped her fingers. “Exactly why we need a new breed of scientists. We don’t want old stuffy classically trained brains. We need much fresher brains as in B-R-A-N-E-S!”
“So, that’s your play. Brane theory. That we’re a 3D brane trapped inside higher dimensional space.”
“The Bulk.”
“I know the multidimensional jargon, Philomena.”
“But you don’t see the opportunity, Akira. The multiverse. It’s an unlimited market. And we can sell in bulk to the Bulk.”
“Sell what?”
“Quantum bacon. Stellar shampoo. Cosmic trading cards. It hardly matters. In a market so enormous, even low volume sales reap incredible profits. It’s called the long tail and we’ll be wagging ours all the way to interdimensional dominance.”
“Are we physicists or pitchmen?”
“Both. We need to be both. Rutherford, Curie, Einstein, Planck, Bohr, Heisenberg, Fermi. They opened the atomic door with no sales experience, no business plan and all it got them were a few measly Nobel Prizes. When we harness fermions to portal into the multiverse, I want to be ready to capitalize on the infinite possibilities.”
Akira contemplated Philomena and the planes--and now branes--of delirious ambition that drove her. He only had one answer. “Quantum bacon.”
“Now you get it, partner. Quantum bacon. The taste of the truly infinite future.”
Huffer Ramjet banks into the turn at speed. He hears bolts vibrating, bolts tightened with a pneumatic wrench that requires a team of two to operate and has to be strapped down itself for safety. Fog creeps in at the edge of his vision. He bites down on the g-force, tastes orange peel and black licorice.
The kaiju on his tail is nasty. It came out of a fissure in the earth and can (absurdly) breathe pure plasma and fly to the moon and back in a day.
But, thank god and his infinite wisdom, monsters don't have braking jets.
"It seems I have no choice in the matter," said the Marsh Wizard.
"I'm afraid not, Miss," replied the bear.
Fern had been surprised when she opened the door that morning, only to be greeted by an enormous white bear.
"Your presence is required at the council of elders. Please come with me this instant," the bear said.
After the shock wore off, Fern demanded to know who the bear was and who was demanding her presence at the council.
"Beg pardon, Miss, I am Brildorn, first secretary to Lord Cartwright, Chancellor to the King. It is he who has sent me to bring you before the tribunal to answer for your crimes," Brildorn said.
"Crimes? What crimes? I have never had anything to do with the bears of Myst Mountain," remarked Fern.
"Be that as it may, you have been charged and will stand before the tribunal this very day. I have orders to destroy this dwelling if you do not go with me," the bear said.
Seeing she had no choice in the matter, Fern grabbed her hat and then climbed onto the beast's back.
"I see, it's been a while since you have bathed," the Wizard chided.
"Sorry, Miss, it's mid-summer, and we won't wash until Samhan, replied Brildorn.
Fern enjoyed the journey into the mountains despite the irritation of being kidnapped.
"We're here, Miss. The council is expecting you," the bear said.
Fern crawled down and headed to the main gate. A guard bear was about to say something but remained silent when Fern shot him a deadly stare.
"Alright, you arrogant furballs, what is the meaning of this outrageous treatment?" barked the Wizard.
"We need your help, and we know you wouldn't have come if we had asked," muttered the Lord Chamberlain.
"So the charges are a ruse?" questioned Fern.
The King rose from his seat, bowed, then spoke. "I am sorry, Fern, for the way we treated you. Knowing your feelings for us and the need for secrecy, I had no other option."
The King explained that the female members of the clan were no longer able to bear offspring. If the rival clans were to find out, they would challenge his leadership, even go to war.
"I understand, and forgive you for the unorthodox manner of my arrival. The last thing we need in Folksburywoods is another war," the Wizard said.
"Whatever it takes, please find a solution to our situation," the King said.
"I'll need two females to return with me to Folksburywoods. We'll say it's for procuring medicinal herbs. No one will suspect anything out of the ordinary," Fern said.
Fern and the she-bears returned to her home later that day.
Fern and her twin Franny investigated the cause of the bear infertility.
"Chokeroot, it has to be chokeroot," cried Franny after examining the bear's hair.
Author Note: this story was written about four years ago as part of a vampire/horror/dark fantasy challenge. It is a little over 1400 words. Enjoy!
Warnings: this is a vampire/horror story, so there is blood and death.
Hot shower. Hot shower, hot shower, hot shower.
Kit Halloway chanted those two words over and over as she marched up the long stairway to the sixth floor, heavy grocery bags in each hand. All she could smell was the grease and meat she’d been serving at the fast food restaurant down the road, where she’d pulled a double-shift. Her feet ached, her back ached far more, and all she wanted was a shower and some dinner.
So, of course, the elevator was broken and she had to walk up to the sixth floor with heavy grocery bags.
“Thank the gods,” she muttered as she finally reached the door to her floor. “Fourth time in eight months that damn elevator has broken down,” she murmured as she took a left to the end of the hall.
She was seriously starting to think the thing had it in for her.
When she reached the door to her apartment, she carefully moved her hand to the knob while balancing the bag.
The door was locked.
“Are you kidding me?” she murmured irritably. Then, after taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door, praying her roommate was home as planned. “Tessa,” she said loud enough so she could be heard through the door. “The door’s locked and I have a bunch of groceries—could you open the door, please?”
No answer.
Kit knocked louder, shuffling the bags slightly. “Tessa?”
Please be home, Tessa. Please.
She really didn’t want to put the bags down and fish the keys out of her purse.
Kit pounded twice on the door, surprised the nosy neighbor to their left hadn’t opened her own door to complain about the “ruckus”.
“Tessa!”
Leaning her ear against the door, she strained to hear for movement. After a few moments, her heart sank. She set the bags on the ground then fished her keys from her purse. Irritation started to turn to anger—which she knew was unjustified as she was just having a bad day—as she slid the key into the lock and turned it.
Opening the door, she found that the lights were on in the kitchen and living room, but no sign of Tessa.
That was unusual. If Tessa left the apartment, she only left the hallway light on.
“Tess?” she called out as she maneuvered the grocery bags into her arms. “You home?”
Silence.
Once she had the door closed—kicking it closed with her foot—Kit made her way to the kitchen, which was open to the living room, and set the bags on the counter then set her purse down as well.
Reaching into a bag, she grabbed the orange juice and walked over to the fridge. As she did so she noticed that Tessa’s purse was on the work bench to the left of the refrigerator. That made her pause: hand on the fridge door.
“Tess?” she called out once more. Again, the inquiry went unanswered.
Anxiousness began to coil slowly in her gut, replacing the irritation, as she looked down the dark hallway past the living room. The apartment was so quiet that her ears began to ring, which only deepened the unease sweeping through her.
Her roommate, and best friend, would never leave the apartment without her purse. Not even if she was visiting a neighbor on the same floor.
Placing the juice back on the counter, Kit grabbed a large knife from their gourmet set—Tessa being a chef, the set was top-of-the-line. Slowly, with her gut now in a tight knot, she made her way to the hall, preparing herself the best she could for the worst possible situation while praying for the best. Especially when she saw the light coming from under the door of the bedroom.
Something was wrong.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she called out one more time. “Tessa? You okay?”
Leaning close to the door, she listened intently, and when she heard no sounds of sleep—Tessa was known to lightly snore—the worry turned to fear. A fear that something horrible had happened and Tessa couldn’t call out.
Stamping down her fear the best she could, she placed her hand on the knob, took a deep breath, and then opened the door: her grip on the knife tightening as she pushed it opened wide.
The sight before her made her heart skip a beat, and the knife slipped in what seemed like slow motion from her hand.
Blood covered the off-white sheets and pale purple blankets of the bed. One of Tessa’s arms was stretched out while the other was at her side. Her head was turned towards the door: eyes open and full of fear. Her mouth slightly agape, and blood covered her neck and chest. Legs bent at the knees, pointing towards the door as well.
“Oh God,” Kit gasped then rushed to her friend’s side. She quickly checked for pulse—her hand shaking. “Tessa! Tess! Damn it,” she cursed as her fingers slipped on the blood as she tried to find a pulse. “Calm down, Kit, calm down. She needs you.”
Shit. She couldn’t find a pulse.
Kit moved her hand to the other side Tessa’s neck, hoping to find a pulse, but her fingers slipped into gash.
With horror, she turned Tessa’s head: a large, gaping wound, about two inches long and an inch wide, still oozed blood. Starting just below the jugular. Her hand covered the wound as she fought panic, and she suddenly realized that the blood was warm, and so was her friend’s skin.
This just happened. “Shit. Shit.”
She ran into the bathroom, grabbed some towels, and ran back to Tessa, swiping the cell phone off the nightstand before pressing a towel to Tessa’s neck with as much pressure as she could as she grabbed Tessa’s landline on the night stand.
Why the hell didn’t you grab your cellphone, Kit!
“That’s not going to work, poppet.”
Her entire body froze at the deep, male voice behind her.
A cold breeze ran up her spine suddenly: the man’s breath on the back of her neck.
How did he get behind me so quickly after speaking? I didn’t even hear a sound!
“Come now, poppet.” A pale hand pressed gently against hers, the one that held the towel to Tessa’s neck. His skin was ice cold. “Let her die. She’s already kissing the other side,” he whispered in her ear, sending icicles up down her spine.
Tessa…
Looking down at her friend, realizing that his words meant Tessa was still clinging to life, Kit unfroze—her hand pressing the towel harder against the wound. “No.”
“Let her go,” he said calmly and softly.
Steeling herself, she replied forcefully, “No. Let me call for help.”
He chuckled, and the sound rolled through her in a wave, caressing her bones. “She sealed her fate long ago.” His fingers dug into her hand. “But I will make you a deal—I will call for help, keep her alive long enough for them to reach her, if you agree to replace her as my pet.”
Confusion rattled her, her eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean? Tessa is no one’s pet?”
His lips brushed her cheek, and then sharp teeth grazed her skin. She stilled her once more.
“She is indeed my pet, as so many others have been through the centuries. If you want to save her, I suggest you make a quick decision, Ms. Halloway.”
Centuries? The confusion deepened, but worry and panic about Tessa’s well-being was a far greater force. She couldn’t let her die, and she was betting he knew that. “How will I know how she fares?” she whispered.
“I will make certain you know. She has two minutes left in her if I don’t stop the bleeding. Choose. Trade your life and freedom for hers, or you both die.”
That was not a choice. She’d die for Tessa, and the guilt from not trying to save her would be all-consuming.
“Save her.” She was confident in her choice, though she knew whatever he had planned for her would most likely be a living hell.
“Good girl.”
Dizziness rocked through her a split second after his words: a strong arm wrapped around her as she started to fall forward, blackness edging her vision.
His pleasure touched her mind—somehow she felt it—as her body went completely limp.
